Feelings

Sweat dripped down Evryn's face as he kept swinging the sword, his breaths growing heavier.

"Forty-two… forty-three… forty-four… forty-five… almost there," he panted.

"Come on, hurry it up," Garran called out, arms crossed as he watched.

"Forty-six… forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty!" Evryn finally stopped, loosening his grip on the sword. His shoulders burned, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

"Good job, haha, but we're not done yet!"

You have to be kidding me…

***

High in the mountains overlooking the village, a lone figure stood, peering through a pair of binoculars.

Sparse trees dotted the rocky slopes, patches of grass and jagged boulders breaking up the terrain. The wind whistled through the peaks, carrying the distant sounds of village life below.

The man lowered his binoculars, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Small place. Maybe hundred-fifty people, give or take."

Behind him, another figure leaned lazily against a boulder before pushing off, stretching his arms. A slow grin spread across his lips.

"Perfect. We'll pay these folks a little visit tonight—remind 'em that the Black Suns run this region. Boss will be pleased."

The scout chuckled, slinging the binoculars around his neck. "Heh… yeah. Bet they got some nice, juicy women down there." He licked his lips. "They'll fetch a good price at the trading grounds."

The two men laughed, their voices swallowed by the howling wind as they turned back toward their hidden camp.

***

Thud—the sword embedded into the ground as Evryn, panting, gripped the tip for support.

"You've got a long way to go, but keep at it and you'll get there," Garran said with a light chuckle, lowering his arms. "I've got to make preparations now."

Evryn looked up. "Preparations for what?"

Garran's tone shifted, a bit more somber. "For Thorne's funeral."

"Oh." Evryn fell silent for a moment, his eyes drifting. "I hope everything goes smoothly for you."

"No worries, I'll be fine." Garran waved him off with a smile before heading toward the busier part of the village.

Evryn stood there for a moment, watching him leave. I never really got to know the guy, so… his death doesn't hit me the same way. But for everyone else… im not sure.

He sighed. It can't be helped, I guess

Evryn took a deep breath and grabbed the sword from the ground. His grip tightened around the hilt, and his resolve sharpened.

Let's go for a hundred this time!

Evryn continued swinging, one strike after another, surpassing one hundred swings and pushing himself even further.

He lost track of how many times he had swung the sword. His shoulders burned from the strain, and sweat poured down his face.

His breath, though steady, never wavered from its rhythm. His mind was completely absorbed in one thought:

Just keep swinging.

Before he realized it, an hour had passed.

Footsteps broke through the silence as someone approached.

"Evryn, what are you doing?" Helaine asked, concern in her voice.

The sound of her voice snapped him out of his trance. "Huh?" He looked up at her before dropping the sword and collapsing onto his back, utterly exhausted.

Helaine gasped, moving toward him, but Evryn raised an arm to stop her. "I'm fine, just tired, that's all."

"Are you sure?" she asked, still wary.

"Positive."

Helaine placed her right hand on her hip, leaning slightly to one side. "You'd better not pass out here. Or I'll do something to make you regret it."

Evryn let out a deep sigh. "Okay, I won't pass out."

"Good."

Helaine moved closer to Evryn, reaching her hand out to him. "Come on, you can't just lie here for the rest of the day. You can't miss what's happening tonight."

"I'm tired."

"Yeah? And who told you to practice out here with no break?"

Evryn paused for a moment, unable to think of anything to say. She was right.

"No one."

"That's right. Now, come on."

With a deep sigh, Evryn grabbed hold of Helaine's right hand and let her help him up.

"I'm going ahead," Helaine said, turning to jog toward the deeper part of the village where everyone was gathering. "You better not take your sweet time."

"I hear you, I hear you," Evryn muttered, still bent over with his hands on his thighs.

Helaine disappeared into the distance, and Evryn straightened his back before grabbing his sword from the ground. He slid it carefully into the back of his coat, securing the tip in his pants.

His hand brushed over his damp hair, the front still sweaty from his training. He didn't mind; he'd take a bath later.

Evryn took a moment to breathe, then started walking down the pathway toward the larger part of the village.

Evryn made his way past the inn and toward the well in the middle of the village. As he approached, he saw a gathering near the center, to his right. Razek waved at him with his usual childish exuberance, only to be smacked across the head by Helaine.

"That's no time to act like a fool," she scolded.

"Ouch, okay! I'm sorry!" Razek whined, rubbing his head.

Evryn shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he closed the distance between them.

Almost everyone in the village had gathered around a makeshift wooden bed, surrounded by three layers of wooden spikes. Thorne's body lay there, covered with leaves. Garran stood at the front of the crowd with a woman—presumably Thorne's wife—by his side. Nearby, children huddled together, crying softly, but the noise was drowned out by the commotion around them.

Garran raised his arms, bringing the crowd to silence.

Clap, clap, clap.

"Today, we gather to honor a wonderful man who tragically lost his life too soon," Garran's voice was somber, but firm.

"He wasn't just a fighter," he continued, pausing to look around at the crowd. "He was a loving husband, a devoted father, and a friend you could spend all night drinking with."

He stopped and glanced at Thorne's wife, his expression softening. "Would you like to say anything before we begin?"

She shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her face, but her lips trembled as she muttered a quiet, "No."

Garran nodded and pulled a torch from his side. He struck it against his leg, igniting it almost instantly. He then passed the torch to Thorne's wife.

She took it in trembling hands, turning toward her husband's body, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke, "I love you… from the bottom of my heart."

With a final, delicate motion, she dropped the torch onto the bed of wood and leaves. Flames erupted instantly, licking the air as Thorne's body was consumed by fire.

The children, still too young to fully understand, screamed and cried, "Papa, no!" They tried to break free from the arms holding them back, but villagers held them tightly to prevent them from getting too close to the fire.

What a sight… Evryn wasn't sure what to feel about any of this. He didn't know Thorne, not really, but it was clear that the man had meant a great deal to everyone around him.

Evryn paused, his mind wandering for a moment. This is probably the first real funeral I've ever been to…

His thoughts flickered to a distant memory. Well, I've been to one before, but that wasn't really… He shook his head, trying to push the thought away. He didn't want to think about the past right now.

The atmosphere around him was thick with sadness, the weight of grief pressing down on everyone. Even if he didn't share their sorrow, it was impossible to ignore the emotions swirling in the air. It made his chest tighten, and before he knew it, he felt drained by the sheer intensity of it all. He had enough of his own burdens to carry; this added weight was more than he could bear at the moment.

With a deep, frustrated sigh, he turned and walked away from the crowd, needing space, needing quiet.

"Ev, where are you going?" Razek's voice called out with concern.

"Don't worry about it," Evryn muttered, not in the mood for any more conversation.

As he moved further away, Mira spotted him leaving the area. Her brow furrowed with worry, and she pushed her way through the crowd, determined to follow him.

Evryn reached the far side of the village, far enough from the funeral that he could no longer hear the somber murmurs of the gathered people. The quiet was almost unbearable, but he needed it. He leaned against the side of one of the buildings, closing his eyes for a moment as he let out another deep sigh. The weight of everything—his thoughts, the funeral, his past—felt too much. He slid down the wall until his backside hit the grass, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze dropping to the ground.

For a long moment, he sat there, his mind a fog of confusion and fatigue, unsure of what to think or feel.

"Evryn?"

A soft, concerned voice broke through the silence, and he turned his head to see Mira, peeking around the corner, her eyes filled with worry.

"Mira?" He wasn't sure what to say, his emotions too jumbled to process.